STORIES

26.11.04

A great walk around New Orleans on dirty streets while worried passengers stare at me, either inside or outside a circus. People who look strange, bored performers on a show that is repeated in order to entertain, to empty the pockets of citizens, to make profit; for the rich to be richer and the poor to be poorer, for the gangster to get away with it all and the creep to rot in prison or the creep to get away with it all and the gangster to rot in prison. And all this takes place in a space blurred by the fumes of the cigarettes of those who smoke in the basements, listening to piano being played from the hands of black musicians. The dark colour, the dark looks and the bright imagination that describe what happened and what didn’t happen. Whatever I saw and did not see yesterday on my small screen.

This is what I like. This is what pleases me, along with voodoo and angry cocks ready to kill one another, because when the cock is well prepared, he takes that out and thus his ‘colleague’ spurs like mad. The others just place their bets on the name of entertainment. Watching a crash is always attractive to the viewers. That’s how it always goes. That’s what happens here too, except for the fact that there’s no winner here but, even if there was one, he wouldn’t earn money. He would only take what would be left from a story with ambiguous end. This end might be different not only for its quality but also for its outcome.

I remember my father telling me stories while on trips. I was little and had to sleep. My father slept first before he even finished with his story. I was then left with the complaint and told myself: ‘When I grow up, I will make my own stories all by myself with my own beginning and my own end.’. That’s what I said and did and it seems that I will be doing this for a long time.